Believe
by xThe Painted Lady
Summary: There was something about the lights on the tree, that glowed with the flutter of a hundred tiny faerie wings, that didn't make the cottage as warm and comforting as they should. /BillxFleur


_**A/N: **Written for Round 5 the Qudditch League Fanfiction Competition, also for the Christmas Boot Camp Challenge with the prompt "poinsettia." _

_**Word count: **2606_

_I didn't have the time to get this beta'd, so it might be a little rough. Regardless, please review!_

* * *

There was something about the lights on the tree, that glowed with the flutter of a hundred tiny faerie wings, that didn't make the cottage as warm and comforting as they should.

Bill sat on the floor beside the tree, staring up at the branches above him, ignoring the clatter of ornaments in the box beside him. He shifted himself and the box slid to the other end of the room.

He sighed.

Although it felt like a forced effort, Bill applauded himself and Fleur for their work on the cottage. Boughs of holly were strung above the fireplace, a ribbon of gold trailing through the vine and shiny baubles were stuck in the branches, glinting in the firelight. Candles were situated atop the mantel, standing tall, flames gently bringing light to the portrait above and the photos beside them. In the window seat, curtains framed the image of the sea outside. There were red pillows, a green comforter, and a white blanket spread out on the seat, stark as it laid surrounded by the dim light, as though inviting someone to come and wrap themshelves in it. There hung no mistletoe above the doorways, for Bill and Fleur never needed an excuse to share a kiss.

They both decided that they would like a quiet Christmas to themshelves this year. It felt selfish, and it almost hurt to not have the family he was so used to having around not be there, but Bill figured there was a different reason as to why he felt so low. The living room gave off a particular warmth, he realised, as he took in the scene around him. Perhaps a smile managed to slip up on his face, but there was no one there to tell.

He looked back at the tree and stared at it for a few seconds before his eyebrows furrowed. The faeries seemed to adapt to the mood around them. For a few minutes, their wings fluttered and gave off brilliant light, then a cold feeling seeped back into Bill's stomach and their fluttering dropped.

He thought about what Luna might say to him about this. He knew what kind of advice she would give him. He didn't force a smile - he simply got up and left them alone.

He wandered around the sofa, hopefully far enough away from the tree to give the faeries comfort.

He made it to the fireplace, then he glanced at the clock that was silently ticking away. But as every moment passed it seemed to grow steadily louder.

_Three years_. Three years since his last Christmas with Fred.

_Two years_. Two years since the war ended.

_Two years_. Since the biggest burdens and heaviest weights were simultaneously lifted and put on his shoulders.

The realisation of just how much time had passed hit him so hard he felt like he might collapse. He pictured Fred's smiling face, a mere blur of what once was in his mind now. Then he pictured his lifeless body, and for some reason it seemed more alive than any other memory Bill had of his little brother.

He thought of Fred underground, body cold, deep within the earth. There mustn't be anything down there now, aside from bone, perhaps dust. The thought made Bill clutch the mantel, hand running through his hair, feeling like he might as well vomit on the hearth.

"Bill!" Fleur's voice. It made him turn around immediately. Her smiling face brought light into the room, lit it up like the north star. Her hair was pulled back and flowing behind her, snowflakes shone like tiny diamonds on her head.

Her happiness glowed like that of a million moons, soft but bright. It was infectious.

"Fleur-"

She grabbed his hand. "Come zee. Eet's beautiful out."

He let her lead him out the door, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts, and into the darkness and chill of the early December night.

oOo

Bill didn't know what it would be like to tread through a faerie garden in midwinter, but he couldn't imagine it to be any different than outside Shell Cottage that Christmas night.

Fleur led him out the door and down the front steps, hand wrapped loosely around his. A small layer of snow brushed up around their feet, glistening in the moonlight as though pounded jewels littered the ground. The cold wind bit at his skin, pushing his hair back. The ocean water beat roughly against the rocks, just as it always did, but the dark sound was overshadowed by the gentle whistle of the wind.

Everything became so small then, like there wasn't another place in the world than Bill and Fleur's little cottage by the sea.

Fleur stopped and took a breath in. The salt from the water mixed with the ice in the air, creating a breeze that was something between heavy and light, perhaps it was both. Bill found it strangely pleasant despite the cold, as though his sadness was being taken and lifted away. He breathed it in too, and sighed.

He realised he had been standing for a while when he turned around and said quietly, "Fleur?" There must have been a reason she brought him out here, but he couldn't tell what it was.

"Just look," she said. Her voice still sounded the same as it did when they met - it was soft and sweet, like a juicy peach with her French accent.

Bill raised his eyebrows.

She grabbed him by the shoulders. "Just look, and see."

Bill did as she said, and looked not toward the cottage, but toward the sea. The further you looked the darker the world seemed to get. The edge of the horizen was merely a strip of black that appeared to have no end. The moonlight did little to nothing to cover up the gloom of the ocean at night. Bill decided to only focus on the land surrounding the cottage, and caught sight of Dobby's headstone.

The elf hadn't meant much to him, but it hardly mattered in Bill's mind. He walked over to crouch next to the grave, raised his wand and conjured a small poinsettia wreath.

He secured it next to the stone, and looked over his shoulder in time enough to see Fleur turn her head, a small smile spread across her face at his action.

He got up and walked to stand next to her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she muttered, staring at the cottage. It had hardly any decor outside, but with the windows lit up and the tree glowing from inside, it was beautiful in a very simple way.

Bill opened his mouth to agree, but Fleur was already kissing him. He let himself relax and kiss her back, hand going around her waist.

"It is," he whispered against her lips. They slowly broke apart, and Fleur went back to staring at the cottage.

Bill wondered if she was seeing more than he could see, with the way her eyes lit up at the scene around them, but the thought didn't linger.

What did linger was the thought of what wasn't there, what he had lost, how different things were, nagging him at the back of his mind. Bill felt like someone had shoved a wad of cottonballs down his throat, and he turned away from the scene and sighed.

Fleur frowned, wilting a little as she saw him turn and begin to walk back toward the cottage. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Bill stopped and looked back, looking slightly awkward.

A few seconds passed.

"Nothing," he answered, a little too sharply.

But he knew Fleur wasn't going to accept that. She stalked up to him, following him back inside.

oOo

The clock was still ticking in a rhythm that seemed louder than ever. Bill wandered in from the kitchen with mugs of cocoa in hand, having thought making some would distract him. It did, but only for so long.

Fleur sat beside the tree, silently watching the faeries flutter along the branches. Earlier, she had left to work on another part of the cottage whilst leaving Bill to hang the baubles on the branches. She gently tapped one that was hidden away, stuffed deep in the tree but still shining brightly. Bill sat down beside her, slipping a mug in her hands.

"Are you trying to tell me somez'ing?" she asked. She took the mug, but still lightly tapped the ornament with her wand. Bill's eyes slid from her to the tree and to the ornament.

He had conjured it. It was a powdery blue, with a painted ribbon that was white and covered in glitter, so it sparkled more than the rest. It was small and compact, hung securely on the tree's branch, something one might think to hang, if not on a Christmas tree, over a baby's cot. The rest of Bill and Fleur's ornaments were a mixture of red, green, and gold, so it stuck out more than it should.

Bill didn't reply, just stared at the little bauble, quietly sipping from his mug.

He knew Fleur could sense the negative air around him. She stopped tapping the ornament and held her wand in midair, watching him. The faeries also seemed to grow uncomfortable, and the light dropped when their fluttering slowed.

He didn't want to just sit there being silent, the faeries acting as though he would hurt them, and Fleur staring at him, expecting a reply. Her question went right by him. He got up and moved over to sit on the sofa without a word.

Fleur sighed, lifted herself from beside the tree and sat with him. "What is wrong?"

Bill was silent for a while. It took him a few minutes to realise his hands were shaking.

"I don't know," he finally said. Even to himself, his voice seemed quiet and distant, as though he had spoken from miles away.

"You must know," Fleur said softly. She took hold of the mug in Bill's hands and set it aside.

Bill put his head in his hands.

Silence.

"Do you want a baby?" Fleur finally spoke up again. It was an honest question, but was said as though Fleur already knew the answer to it.

Bill looked up at her, his voice low and soft. "I want family."

Fleur opened her mouth to reply, but Bill had already started to talk again.

"But I don't- I don't want to-" He hid his face again.

It was rare that Bill struggled with words, and Fleur was not an idiot - she could tell there was more to what was bothering him.

She gave him a look, and he knew what it meant.

He lifted his head, not wanting to be a wilting flower.

"I don't want to forget," Bill said. He stared off into the distance, wanting so bad to turn away, regretting showing his face to Fleur so much. But he would not cry. He would not make it worse.

Fleur's hand touched the side of his face. She kissed him. "Wait 'ere," she said, and stood up to leave for the kitchen.

The shadows of the faeries danced on the walls, but soon they came to a complete halt, watching Bill from behind.

He folded his hands together and stared at the floor. He hardly cared about the actions of the faeries anymore.

It wasn't long at all before Fleur returned, something held in her hands, something small. Bill looked up, and she sat down.

She opened her hands up to the faint light. In her palm rested a small seashell, open side down.

"I know you're z'inking about Fred," she said. Her voice was gentle and soft, eyes trained on the shell. "I know you're told zis too many times, but I know - I understand, and it's okay." Fleur took hold of Bill's hand and placed it atop the shell so he could flip it over. "I found zis weeks ago, and kept it so it could grow."

Bill had been staring at the shell in her hands, then finally looked up to see Fleur staring at him, expectantly.

"Turn it over," she said.

He felt confused. "Fleur-"

"Just look and see," she said.

Bill did as she said. He turned the shell over and saw, inside, a worm carcass. What was still left of it was white and washed-out, a hollowed body. He could see a small green vine spreading its way through it, and at the tip, a pink flower bud.

Bill looked back up at Fleur, still confused.

"Z'ings die," she whispered. "And when family goes, sometimes it feels like we go with z'em. But you zee, dying doesn't always mean death." She fitted her fingers around the side of his face, thumb stroking his jaw, feeling the scars on his skin. "Fred wouldn't want you to put a baby off by guilt."

Bill was slowly shaking his head. "But Fleur- I'm-" He let his head fall, and he sighed. He hated that his voice sounded so weak - he didn't talk like that.

He looked back up again. "I don't want to just fill a void. I don't want to forget. I can't."

"Yes, you can," Fleur said. She straightened up, gave him a hard look. "You will never stop feeling like that if you don't. Do not deem the possible impossible just because it seems improbable. You might as well sentence your brother to eternal guilt by being the one to send you into misery." She slapped her hands down in her lap.

Bill narrowed his eyes. "Don't act like you know how my brother would feel," he snapped.

"Oh, but I do," Fleur retaliated. "As though moving on for me would be any different for you!" She wrapped her hand around the seashell, then set it on the table.

Bill sighed, hands going to his hair again. He let them fall moments later.

They became engulfed in silence. Nothing but the sound of the clock rang through the room, a soft ticking noise to Fleur but a screaming, crooked piece of wood to Bill, shouting how much time was passing in his ears.

He finally looked up again, and light flashed in front of his eyes. He turned to his side and saw Fleur staring at the table.

"I'm sorry," Bill muttered.

Fleur turned to him. "It's okay," she murmured. Slowly, she put her hand atop his. Bill found her skin to be warm, soothing, and comforting.

"He would forgive you," she said.

Bill simply stared at her. He knew what she was saying, but found it unbearable to come to terms with.

"You need to forget, Bill." She kissed the side of his face. "He's already forgiven you."

Bill slowly leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment. "I know."

And finally, he accepted it. He knew what Fleur was saying. Even in the heart of death, life could grow back. Love could die and be reborn in the form of new. Bill suddenly got the image of a tiny baby on the floor, eyes immersed in the wonder that is a shining Christmas bauble, and he smiled.

His hand found Fleur's shoulder. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," she whispered back.

Then they were kissing, hands soon searching for better grip, as though if they didn't cling to each other their love would be taken in the world outside.

The faeries' light soon filled the room again, and as the minutes wore on, the clock became seemingly silent. Its merciless ticking a distant memory.


End file.
